Advice for the Lovelorn Knight
by k4writer02
Summary: Gary goes to Squire Alan for advice on pursuing Cythera. One shot


Title: Advice for the Lovelorn (1/1)

Author: Kate, I disclaim! They belong to Tamora Pierce; I'm just playing in the sandbox while she looks at the distant past of Tortall to write the Provost books.

Rating: PG, mild

Author's notes: I thought it would be funny for Alanna to try to give advice to one of her friends about the fairer sex while remaining IN CHARACTER! This is the result. Plus, I'm interested in Cythera, the beautiful blond who wins Gary's heart. Even though Cythera doesn't actually appear. Enjoy, and please r/r.

Alanna sighed, and immediately regretted it as she inhaled a mouthful of dust. She choked, coughed, sneezed and swore in rapid succession. She rubbed her watering violet eyes irritably, then picked up her polishing cloth and resumed rubbing Moonlight's tack with renewed vigor. It wasn't precisely that the saddle and bridle were dirty – Alanna's vanity kept her all too conscious of the picture she made on Moonlight's golden back to allow the tack to become decrepit. In addition, a warrior was only as strong as her equipment—and Alanna intended to be an excellent warrior.

She was cleaning tack that wasn't dirty because she was nervous and irritable, and a retreat to the stables was in order, even though it was January and freezing. So she was squeezed into an uncomfortably small stall, with her own tack as well as the Prince's, Raoul's, Gary's, Myles', Douglass' and Sacherell's. She had attended to Myles' tack first, because it looked rather dusty and in need of attention. She had turned her attention next to Jon's tack, because she had been a little snappish without at all meaning it, and she wanted to apologize but she couldn't find the words.

After that, she had cleaned Gary and Raoul's tack, to pass the time and because if she cleaned Jon's tack, Gary and Raoul would complain that their squires never did them such favors, and then Sacherell and Douglass would be shamed, and they would blame her for doing tasks no one asked her to do. Most likely they would laugh it off, but they were her friends as well. Then she cleaned Sacherell and Douglass's tack, because it would look rather odd to their knight masters if their own tack were more brightly polished than their squires'.

Douglass in particular had the bad habit of paying more attention to his equipment than to Gary's, explaining once (rather impishly) that when ladies and wenches saw the glistening tack, they thought of sparkling jewelry, which inclined them in the favor of the man atop the horse. Alanna had rolled her eyes in disgust, but it didn't escape her notice that the circle of Douglass and Sacherell admirers was growing daily. Though, truth to tell, if the circle shrank, it would only contain Douglass and Sacherell themselves. Yet Lady Gwynnen had declared them "darling imps," so all the girls in her year at the convent were giving them another look.

Alanna had debated polishing her own bridle and saddle, but in the end boredom and unwillingness to face her friends or the ladies won out. The metal and leather gleamed from dirt removing solutions and polishing agents. It was a task that Alanna usually didn't mind, since it occupied her hands while her mind drifted. On the other hand she didn't usually seek the chore out, generally satisfied that everything was sound and in proper working order. Her things didn't gleam this way unless she was avoiding something, or someone. It was a Sunday so she wasn't skipping classes, and though there was homework she ought to be doing, it wasn't overwhelming.

Stefan was aware of many of these facts when he tracked the sound of sneezing, coughing, and swearing to the cramped, seldom used stall at the end of the Great Stables. The stall wasn't even proper housing for one of the king's beasts—it was reserved for the storage of hay and horse blankets. So what a human was doing there was an excellent question. He looked over the half door to see the Prince's red-headed squire polishing tack. He almost dropped the straw from his mouth, "What are ye doing, lad? If ye freeze out here, George'll have both these ears. Go have dinner with the nobles." Alan was well known for despising the cold.

"I prefer the horses, at the moment."

Stefan smirked, "What's it this time, then? His Grace or His Highness in a temper? Or is the excitement over yer bath too much for ye?"

The squire looked up guiltily, "I thought you knew all the gossip, Stefan."

"I know some," he acknowledged.

Alanna muttered to the tack, "Besides, if Douglass makes one more joke about warming up in a kitchen maid's bed, I wouldn't be able to answer for Geoffrey's actions."

"So obviously you're washing and polishing tack."

"I like to be useful," Alanna defended.

"So ye say," Stefan languidly chewed his straw.

Alanna resumed rubbing the leather.

"Any lady in particular?"

Alanna startled, overturning a bottle of polish, "I don't know what you mean."

"Gossip has it Lady Cythera wouldn't mind warming you up."

Alanna threw down the polishing cloth in disgust, "Not you too!"

"No, I just wanted you to stop before you rubbed a hole in that saddle."

She laughed a little, "How else is gossip telling it?"

"Lady Cythera is watched by Sir Gary, and Sir Raoul."

Alanna blinked like an owl.

"And the Prince, and Lord of Cavall, and the Nond heir, and the rest of the Court too," Stefan amended.

"True enough," Alanna agreed, because men did watch the elegant Cythera. She was angelically fair, with clear skin, bright eyes, naturally curly ash blonde hair and a delicate figure. She was slender enough that puffs of wind threatened to blow her away, or so Duke Roger had said when he cut before Gary to offer her his arm during a windy walk through a bare orchard. "It always amazes me that a stable hand knows so much about what happens in the ballroom," she said dryly, packing up the polishing agents.

The hostler quirked his lips in a smile, "I don't believe everything I hear, Alan."

"Since I fell through the ice I haven't had a moment's peace. The ladies hover round me like a child in need of nursing and Jon and the others hover around the ladies," the squire shrugged.

Stefan laughed, a coarse sound that reminded Alanna of sandpaper against stone. "Oh aye, having all the beauties of the Court fawning on ye must be a terrible burden. Never having suffered through it myself, I'll take your word."

Alanna made a face at him, "Once you were too reserved and respectful to talk to me," she teased.

Stefan's face turned pink, "Well I wouldn't be too excited over the Lady—," Stefan checked himself. "If you're near frozen and hate the cold, as I know ye do, why are ye in the Stables?"

"I already mentioned Lady Delia, Lady Gwynnen and Lady Cythera, yes?"

The squire had not mentioned admirers by name, but Stefan was familiar with palace gossip, so he nodded.

"When the ladies spend too much time with "the invalid" my knight-master and other friends start to question everyone's motives and intentions and I'd rather not duel one of those big fellows in this state. It would make their loss so much more embarrassing and we'd both get border patrol," Alanna flashed a cocky smile that she had copied from George.

Stefan chewed his straw, "So instead of making them jealous by charming their ladies, you clean their tack?"

"There was also the matter of the bet I lost to Alex, you see," Alanna mumbled, "They each contributed two nobles, but none of them will admit it or let me pay him back, so they'll just have clean tack," Alanna hoped that Stefan's perceptive eyes would not catch Sir Myles' virtually unused saddle and bridle.

"Well, come up to my loft when ye finish and there'll be hot brew waiting."

She smiled, "Thanks, I'm done now, actually. I was just dreaming."

Stefan grunted, which was an invitation to talk more. She rose and filled her arms with seven bridles. Stefan took a saddle on each arm, making four trips in all. Together they returned the leather and metal pieces to appropriate hooks in the tack room. Alanna took a few extra minutes to untangle bridles, and then hung them on the wall. By the time she joined Stefan in his loft, Gary was there also, looking miserable.

Alanna settled herself with a horse blanket and an enormous mug of steaming "brew" (she didn't ask many questions about what was in the brew, mainly because it tasted good and she had a feeling she didn't want to know). "So what drove you out of the nice, warm palace?" Alanna asked.

Gary sighed. "I wanted—I had to say—I'm sorry," he blurted in an inarticulate fashion.

"It's all right," she assured him, oddly comforted by the apology, "I know you didn't mean it."

Gary nodded, "Still you shouldn't have to hide out in the barn because I'm a fool."

Alanna shrugged, "You've always been a fool. I'll forgive this manifestation."

Stefan chuckled. A low whistle sounded, and the blond man stood. "Feeding time for the yearlings. Be comfortable awhile."

Gary and Alanna waved at him. She turned to her ex-sponsor, "Now why are you really out here?"

Gary looked wretched. "I need--," he paused interminably, "a word of advice," he choked.

Alanna started to smirk.

"I'm not getting anywhere with Cythera," Gary confessed what they both already knew, "and I mean no where. She's friendlier to you than she has ever been to me."

Alanna shrugged, keeping her true opinion of the acutely awkward situation to herself. "Nothing is happening, or has happened, or will ever happen," she said quickly. "So I don't have those words of wisdom for you." She bit her lip, warring between tact and helpfulness. Eventually, helpfulness won, "I do think I have an idea about why you're failing."

Gary perked up. "Oh, this should be good," he muttered, "What am I doing wrong, oh sage?"

Alanna shrugged, "I haven't talked to her about you, understand, but you're probably using your usual M.O."

Gary winced, "M.O.?"

"Modus operandi. Method of operation, if you will."

He made a face. "I know the term, thanks. My father and the other masters were quite fond of it during my page years. What do you mean by it?"

"Every time you approach a new woman, you do it the same way." Alanna had feigned slumber to escape the attention of Gwynnen, Cythera, and Delia after Jon had put her to bed in her own little room. The girls had spoken freely, if quietly, of the liaisons that were sparking and formed and fractured at the skating party. The gist had been a stern caution from Gwynnen to Cythera, and a malicious (if honey-coated) eye-opener from Delia, which implied that Cythera was in no way special to Gary. "Hothouse flowers, extravagant or belated welcome to the palace, a personal tour of the rose gardens and portrait galleries…need I continue?"

Gary shook his head, mute.

"Gary, the first thing you need to understand about women is that they talk to one another." Alanna thought about adding that they did not always tell the truth—Delia had exaggerated cruelly, but the green-eyed belle probably felt threatened by the purity and innocence of Cythera. "At first, any attention is charming. You are, after all, a rich knight and kinsman to royalty."

Gary smiled a bit ruefully, "Fat lot of good that does. Cythera is the least worldly courtier I've ever met."

Alanna did not want to dwell on Court games. They caused her head to ache. At least with a sword in your hand, the problem and solution were fairly straightforward. She didn't like all the manipulations and deceptions people used to curry favor or create dissent. She forced her mind back to Gary's problem, "But the first shine of the filled dance card and the sweets and the flowers wears off when they realize it's nothing special. You do it every time you want to make a conquest."

Gary frowned, thoughtful. He wanted Cythera, not in the temporary way he had wanted Delia and the others like her, but in a more permanent way. He'd known from the moment her eyes met his at her introduction to the Court. Her smile had been oh-so-sweet and oh-so-innocent (nothing unusual there), but there had been something…genuine about her that fascinated him. But she hadn't been interested that night, and Delia had hung on his arm, and for some reason (Gary thought it was her perfume) Delia distracted men. Most puzzling to Gary was how prickly, mysterious Alan had picked up on all this. But more pressing, "Then why did she join the skating party? Is there someone else?" An unsaid 'are you the other?' hung in the air between them.

"There are, of course, any number of possibilities," Alanna ticked them off, "1. She likes skating. It's one of the few exercise activities they allow and encourage in the convent. 2. You've never asked anyone skating before and she felt unique. 3. She found out about the M.O. later. 4. All of the above. 5. She wanted to see Jon or Raoul or Alex or one of the squires."

"Stop," he cut her off and glared at his friend sourly, "Supposing that she is special, how do I tell her that without looking like a fool?"

Alanna gave him a twitchy smile, "So long as you're her fool, what makes you think that she would mind?"

This was such obvious nonsense that Gary rejected it. Alan's experience with women was negligible, or at least limited to flower sellers and acquaintances of George or Rispah.

Alanna tried again, "So far, she's rejected the conventional. So be unconventional. She liked skating, right?"

"Until she had to leave abruptly," Gary lashed out a little, "You don't really think she went to see one of the others, do you?"

"No," Alanna took pity, "I think she went to see you."

"Then why won't she see me now?" he demanded in frustration.

"Maybe someone poured poison in her ear," Alanna suggested.

Gary evaluated his friend, "Do you know something you aren't telling me?"

Alanna sighed, "Why don't you take her into the city? You could walk around the marketplace. From what I hear, a convent is a rather remote, boring place to spend so many years. You could buy honeycakes from a Bazhir vendor, ribbons or some trifle like that, you'd know better than I would. Maybe take in a Player show?"

Gary regarded her suspiciously. "Is that your M.O.?"

"Mine?" Alanna blushed. "No."

Gary nodded, appreciating the beauty of the plan. "A Player's show. Dancing, singing, all that. Dinner at an eating house, or from a food vendor. A little present that she likes, but small enough that she can accept."

Alanna finished her tankard of brew. "It also might help if you brought Sacherell and his lady, so that it isn't necessary for her to bring a chaperone."

Gary nodded again. "Corus is no Port Caynn." He said. "But it is superior to the markets in other cities."

"And it's nothing you've done before." Alanna said. She knew that the knights preferred to impress the convent-girls turned Court-ladies within the extensive warren of the palace. But one of her sweetest memories of her affair with Jonathan was a day last summer when she had dressed in her girl's clothing at Mistress Cooper's, and met him in the market. They had behaved like different people, as if they were Jonny, the merchant's son, and Anna, the scribe's daughter. They had wandered among the stalls, hand in hand, like love-struck idiots, stupid with the freedom to be boy and girl together. She had gotten scared when she saw a guard she recognized, so they hadn't done it again, but the sweetness of that day, stolen out of time and space, was with her still in the January chill.

Something of the sweet memories, or the wistfulness must have crossed her face, because Gary tried to fish for information, just a little. "From experience?"

Alanna clammed up. It was all well and good to kiss Jonathan and do other things behind their locked door, but she couldn't afford to get soft and girly. Especially when someone had tried to kill her with salt. Of all the ways to go, Alanna felt almost insulted that her mysterious enemy thought a table flavoring would get rid of her. But it had come close. She had sent one of George's men with a message to Thom. She was waiting still for the answer (she could not know that she would wait forever for that particular messenger's reply.)

Gary evaluated the closed expression on his small, prickly friend's face. "Keep your secrets," he said at last. "But I don't think I should expose anyone I like to Sacherell for too long."

Alanna cracked a small smile. "Why did you take him as your squire? I thought you were going to take Geoffrey. How did Alex get him instead?"

"I wasn't allowed to arm wrestle Jon for you, so I chose the next oddest of your class."

Alanna made a face at him, "Raoul could go."

"Raoul is as anti-social as you are. The only way he gets through a party is frequent cups of wine."

"Jon?" Alanna suggested, though she choked on his name the tiniest bit.

Lucky for her, besotted Gary did not notice. "He never does anything of that nature anymore. Just spends lots of time locked in his rooms or in his study, drawing pictures and burning them."

Alanna filed this away for further reflection. Though it pleased her, it wouldn't do for Jonathan to change from a charming and much sought bedfellow to a celibate. Oh, how she did hate Court games and the deception that came with love affairs.

"Douglass? Maybe Geoffrey." she suggested helpfully.

Gary shook his head at each name, "Geoffrey isn't allowed to leave the palace since he was caught with that kitchen maid. And maybe you haven't noticed, but most ladies don't really like Douglass or Sacherell. Those monsters find humor in things ladies don't."

"They're getting better," Alanna defended her friends, "Sacherell hasn't even mentioned pink undergarments since Lady Roxanne broke her fan over his head."

Gary looked skeptical.

"But maybe you're right," Alan conceded. "What about Alex?"

Gary paused, unable to put into words exactly what was running through his mind. He and Alex had been close, long ago. But now, there was something a little off about that old friend. It was in the way Alex's eyes followed Alan. The cat-like swordsman looked at Alan as though he were hungry, but Gary didn't want to imagine hungry for what. A rift had grown between them since that day, several years ago, when Alex had broken Alan's collarbone.

The gulf had widened since Alan fell through the ice on Alex's dare. Alex had forgiven the debt, but Alan wouldn't accept that. For a little fellow, he had an over-developed sense of pride. So Alex had lied and said that the others had paid the debt, which meant Alan was now hounding them all, while Alex watched from the shadows. There was something almost menacing in the stare, but Alan didn't seem to notice. Such thoughts left Gary uncomfortable and confused—feelings that were both unwelcome and unfamiliar. "Not Alex," he said at last. "I think you should come with me."

"Me?" Alanna tried very hard not to panic, "I don't think that's a good idea at all. I'm still sick, you know," she summoned an unconvincing cough.

Gary laughed at her, "Women aren't that terrifying to you, are they?"

"I'm not frightened," Alanna insisted. "I'm—,"

"You could invite Lady Gwynnen. Sacherell would go mad," Gary interrupted.

"If he likes her, he really ought to tell her instead of sending bad poetry anonymously or asking Douglass to recite original compositions to her." They snickered together over one or two of Sacherell's more colorful humiliations.

"Will you go?" Gary pleaded, "Since you were just injured, if you extend the invitation, they can't say no."

"So you're using me for insurance?"

"I need as much as I can get," Gary admitted.

"In that case, you really ought to ask Jon. It would be good for him to get out and about. And no single Lady worth her salt would refuse an invitation from the Crown Prince and his cousin. Even one as unworldly as Lady Cythera."

Gary made a face, "Do I really have to say it?"

"Say what?" Alanna asked, genuinely confused.

Gary gritted his teeth. Finally he ground out a strained, "She likes you."

"Me?" Alanna turned pale. "That's impossible."

"She ran the fastest to get a healer for you after your bath. She visits the most often of all the ladies. She brought you a special healing tea from Elden!"

"Actually, Lady Cythera never comes or goes without Lady Gwynnen, the tea was from Eldorne and Delia, and you weren't there to see who got to the healers first," Alanna informed her friend, on safer footing.

"Are you going to be a stubborn fool?" Gary demanded.

Alanna smirked at him, and gave a nonverbal answer that caused Gary to throw his hands up.

The knight rose and announced, "I'm going inside where it's warm." He left, planning all the while. Shortly after, Stefan reappeared, with a fresh straw in the corner of his laconic mouth.

"So Sir Gary fancies Lady Cythera?"

"I've never seen him this taken before," Alanna confessed.

"It's a good idea. The market and a Player show and all that."

Alanna's eyes widened slightly, and she shrugged. "As long as I don't have to go in this weather. It's not as bad as last winter; there's no Demon Gray, but it's nothing a civilized person should put up with."

Stefan smiled a bit and shrugged. "Aye, it's cold, but it's not like Scanra. The weather there would take the toes off your feet, so I hear."

Alanna agreed, "I'm from that part of the world. Why do you think I stay here?" With that parting shot, she slipped away from the loft back to her life as a squire.

Author's Note: My take on the relationship between Alex and Gary was influenced by Hsui's short but oh so expressive vignette "Winter." It's linked in my favorite stories (still working on figuring out the whole link thing).

Also, my ideas about Douglass and Sacherell must be credited to Rosie eisoR, author id: 69618 on this site, a simply fantastic writer. She's also listed under my favorites. You can't go wrong with anything she writes about the madcap dynamic duo, though I would start with Knight Swap or Sigh for Cythera (which is brilliant)!


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